“By no manner of means,” said Bar; “only you must promise me one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Let me give ’em their first lesson, if they’re bound to have one. You’re enough for either of them, now, I think, but I want to take the conceit out of them in a way of my own.”
“Well,” said Val, “all right; only I don’t mean to be counted out.”
“Wait and see,” said Bar.
Nearer and nearer the two friends were strolling, as they had a perfect right, to the spot where the preliminaries of the game were being arranged, when they were suddenly greeted with these words from Hy Allen:
“Hullo! you fellows, are you going to play?”
“Not this time,” said Bar, quietly; “we prefer to look on.”
“You prefer to look on?” very mockingly responded Zeb Fuller himself, for there was a good deal in Bar Vernon’s manner that he had made up his mind not to like. “If you’re above playing ball with us, what are you here for?”
“Oh,” said Bar, “you may play. We don’t want the green for anything to-day. Go on with your game.”